The Reason
by 26Chapters
Summary: A tiny fic that is set somewhere before the finale. It's sort of actually terrible, but since I worked on it, here it is.
1. Chapter 1

'**You don't kiss someone by puckering your lips. You see someone, and you remember why you desire them. Your sympathetic nervous system quickens your pulse, your frontal lobe lowers your inhibition, and you need to kiss them. It happens all at once, where impulsive and compulsive...that's how the brain works.'**

**Derek Sheperd, Grey's Anatomy S10E12**

It's a small matter, so tiny that she really cannot store it in the folder that has filed in it, all the precious moments in her life.

It's a small action, so nearly insignificant and ordinarily regular, because he does it always, without fail, and only half aware.

It's a small moment, so very quickly over as it begun, that she wants to believe she created it in the corners of her brain.

Yet, it isn't.

It's not a small matter, that when they order take-away, with his order, he gets chips. Chips, which he doesn't all that much favour.

It's not a small action, that he subconsciously, out of habit, sorts the chips away from the rest of his meal.

It's not a small moment that it's instantly over, as though he never actually did it.

Because today, right now, this moment, it's huge.

The way his slender fingers make contact with the chips, to push them aside.

The way he's concentrating on the text in the book before him, but a part of his mind is with her.

The way he looks up to say something, but doesn't when he sees she's watching him.

'Leftenant?' his face gives him away to puzzle, his fingers tapping lightly on the table that keeps them each on their own ends.

It's huge, because seeing all this, really seeing after all that time of vaguely acknowledging, reminds her why it is that she likes him, why she might be falling in love with him. She never forgets what place he holds in her life, but in this moment, recognising this, makes all the special difference.

It helps her remember.

How she feels when she has her hand in his.

The way his gaze (in the dim light) brands every part of her with his name.

That she would really love to untie the band in his hair, and run her fingers through it.

'Are you all right?'

No. She's not all right.

Her heart is hammering against her ribcage, a large fraction of all her senses are crashing as though they've been in overdrive too long, and she can't evenly control her breathing. The need to put a hand to his cheek, and taste his lips, is too great. She's in no way all right.

And no, no, no. There's all that space between them, he's not within her reach.

'Crane?' she closes her eyes.

'Yes?'

'Come stand here, next to me.'

Because she has asked, he doesn't hesitate, not a second. He springs up from his chair to her side in three blurry fast movements.

'Leftenant?'

The word brings renewed life to her body. With closed eyes, she rises to her full height, then only opens her eyes, 'Crane,' she whispers.

'What is the matter Leftenant? Are you ill?' One of his hands reach out to inspect her forehead, for any rise in temperature. She acts impulsively, her one hand pulling his off her forehead, as the other goes around the base of his neck.

'Abbie?' confusion gets the better of him. Ignoring him, she gently pulls him to her, so very close until her forehead is pressing into his.

'What is it?' she asks him, her breath hitting him on the lips. He can only blink, not saying a thing. Just as well, she thinks as well, she wouldn't be able to deal with talking Crane, and her desire simultaneously. Her heart is racing now, threatening to run away if she doesn't act fast. Closing her eyes once again, Abbie moves her lips upwards in a bit of haste, meeting his in a gentle collision. She doesn't suck or pull or nibble on his lips, all she does is keep her lips gently pasted on his, feeling them along with her own.

It's a small kiss, less than anything she's ever known, and it's over fairly quickly, leaving him a little dazed.

Yet, it wasn't small.

**This little piece took me about 7 hours to create. Imagine. Less the 800 words! I just couldn't get it right, it was extremely hard. And I guess this is how drafts look like? So, glad it's over. How do people come up with good writing, and some of us are just like drab.**


	2. Chapter 2

Along with her lips, she removes her hand from his neck. Only their foreheads are together now. He can't move just, he wants to, but he can't. Her eyes blink up at him, once, twice, thrice.

'Hey,' she says quietly, drawing away from him at last. Now, he finds that he can breathe, whether he was before now, he can in no way confirm or deny.

'Crane.' He doesn't particularly understand what has transpired between them, and least of all why. He has to know.

'What was that?' he looks at her.

'I kissed you.' She's blunt about it, as though it's the most natural thing in the world. It would be, if it was, but it's not. Not for them.

'Why?' he croaks, his throat suddenly dry.

'I don't know,' she shrugs, 'I just had to. It was like, weird, I don't know.'

'You had to?' It doesn't make sense to him. Does she harbour feelings more than friendly towards him? And when did that happen?

'Yes. Haven't you ever just needed to do something in a moment? If you didn't, it felt like you'd die?'

He knows what she is talking about after all. It isn't impulse, impulse is triggered by something other than pure need. He's many a times experienced what Abbie is talking about, with his wife, so he understands. Only, he doesn't accept it.

'I'm married,' he hears himself saying.

'I know,' she smiles slightly.

'I love my wife,' he tells her. Even though she's stuck in Purgatory, he loves her.

'I know that too,' she answers again, her smile growing.

If she knows all this, why did she kiss him? She told him why, but it isn't enough for him. Nobody kisses another just because they needed to, there had to be something deeper.

'Then why..?'

'Are you going to be all awkward about this? Because it happened. I kissed you. And yes you are married, and you love your wife. But I kissed you. Will you stop talking to me?'

'No,' he scowls at the absurd suggestion.

'Do you hate that I kissed you?'

'No,' he answers, although truthfully, he isn't all that aware of his feelings on the subject.

'Do you want it to happen again?'

'No.' Of course not, he's married, that's the answer that comes to his head.

'Good,' she crosses her arms, 'because it's never going to happen again.'

'I was merely perplexed, and taken by surprise. I'm sorry.'

Hang on, why is he the one apologising? He did nothing wrong, nothing at all. Abbie laughs heartily, the sound of her laughter as she takes her seat again ringing very deep in his ears.

'Something funny Leftenant?'

'I would swear you've never been kissed before. Why are _you_ sorry? You did nothing.' She's right, her words are true, and yet, he can't help it feel apologetic.

'I have not an idea,' he confesses, finding it very hard to move from where he is to his seat opposite her, 'I'm just sorry.'

'Yeah? I'm not. Sit down,' she shows him to his chair, 'we have work to do.'

That's it? That's how they've resolved it? Did she find her words explanatory enough? Because he didn't. He wants to know more, the actual reason she kissed him, and why only so chastely that he didn't get the chance to feel the kiss? Nothing makes sense to him anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

This is too much, too soon. Just three days ago, she kissed him, and now...her bottom is all but pressed into his face. To be fair, it's no fault of her own, but he doesn't appreciate it all the same.

He was the one who offered to hoist her up so she could reach for the lantern, she wasn't the one who suggested it, but oh, but, he blames her. He blames her for being short, and small, and able to stand in his hands without him complaining about her weight. Because she if she wasn't all those things, she wouldn't have her boot-covered feet in his hands. She wouldn't be slightly bobbing in attempt to get the lantern into her small hands. And her bottom would certainly not be right in the centre of his view, his nose, or his face.

He should look away. He does, briefly, before he realises that looking away might not be the best alternative. It's dark in the shed, he's barely able to see what's right in front of him, so if he looks away, she could easily falter and bring them both crashing to the ground. And the noise will for certain arouse the attention of the very people they're stealing from. He turns his face reluctantly back to her. Her bottom that is. His nose picks up a trace of the perfume she wears, or doesn't wear (he can never decide if she wears perfume or her bathing soap has a very strengthy aroma). Surely the smell is not coming from her...bottom. Could it be? No, he decides, she couldn't possibly wear perfume around that region as well. But what else then could be bringing the scent to his nostrils if not her bottom right before his smelling organ?

Out of curiosity more than anything else, he sniffs once, and a second time.

Yes, he notes triumphantly, her bottom is indeed the culprit of the smell.

What is he doing? Smelling the bottom of a woman who is not his wife. Not to say that if she were his wife, he'd smell her bottom, because that's just plain ridiculous.

Feeling horribly guilty and filthy, his eyes shift around from this side to that, trying to avoid looking at the bottom of Abigail Mills. It's disgusting enough that he smelled-to confirm his suspicions, he reasons desperately-her bottom, but to keep looking at it too? No, that's crossing an extreme line.

'Crane!'

He looks higher up to see her face, his face burning deeply, like that of child caught stealing cookies.

'Help me down,' she hisses at him, clearly not impressed with him.

'Oh,' he says relaxing a fraction, 'right.' He can't 'help her down' he realises, as currently both his hands are under her feet.

'I can't,' he tells her in a hushed tone, 'I'm holding you up.' He hears her make the sound that she makes when she is impatient.

'Let me go,' she says. He's about to protest when she lifts her leg and lowers it below his hand. This new development brings (thankfully) her lower half below his face, away from his vision.

'Now help me down.'

She's perfectly capable of getting down on her own, why, he wonders, does she need him to help for? Pushing that thought aside, his free hand reaches for her, it settles under her armpit.

They move too independently, not together, as he tries to tug her down as quietly and gently as possible, she too tries getting down. The result is her nearly crashing to the floor, taking him with her, but he catches her just before she does.

The result of that one, is much rather too much for him, more than her bottom in his face was. He's got her firmly gripped (one hand on her waist, the other under her armpit), and pulled closed to him. So close that he can feel the ghost of her breasts pressing into his chest. They really aren't, but if either of them move, they will be.

'I'm married,' he hears himself saying. What caused him to say so, he doesn't know. Perhaps he feels that this, this strange intimacy is betrayal.

'What?' comes her voice.

'I...' What does he want to say? She knows he's married.

'Crane,' she starts in her serious business voice, 'the next time,' she literally presses herself into him, 'you tell me you're married, I will punch you.'

'Lef-te-nant...' he for some reason grips her harder. This isn't going well for him at all. He doesn't like her this close, it confuses him, makes him stupid. And goodness, her breasts really are pressing into him now.

'I know you're married, but I can't help it wonder...Your need to keep saying it, is that for me or you?'

He swallows, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opens them again, her face is a millimetre from his own. Involuntarily, he gasps, and she smiles.

'Leftenant,' he gathers his will, 'I think...' he swallows again, 'I think we need to talk boundaries.'

'Get the lantern, and let's go.' She frees herself from him, but he doesn't move just yet.

'You staying?' she cocks her head to the side.

'I'm...I'm getting the lantern.' His hand grabs the darn lantern, greatly feeling resentment to it, if not for it, none of this would've happened.


	4. Chapter 4

They didn't get the chance to talk boundaries as he wanted. Everything happened so fast that he didn't have the time to sort out his, to say, unfortunate series of events with Abbie. One minute they were exorcising a petty demon (well, as evil as petty got) from a child, and the next, they were sort of 'decryting' hidden texts in the bible that belonged to Washington. There was absolutely no time in between to have a proper sit down and talk about where to draw the line for certain things. For one thing, he hates being uncomfortable. Since the night of the lantern, he hasn't been able to relax the way he used to around her, not if she leaned over his shoulder to see what he's reading, or if any of their body parts brushed accidently. The unease sticks to him like sweat. Of course he cherishes her all the same, but something has changed, and definitely for the difference. Whether good or bad, he doesn't at all think about.

Because they didn't have the talk, (and only the circumstances can be blamed, not him), he finds himself unsettled once again.

Earlier, when they opened the doorway to Purgatory, he automatically searched for her hand. That wasn't a problem. The problem came when he had to grip her hand tightly for it was so small in his, and he was afraid it would slip out of his. Had they talked boundaries, he would've ruled out physical contact that is more than a fist bump, not even a handshake (oh, the things he'd have to endure because of a handshake). Physical contact, has to it, very undesirable consequences for him.

Now, he regrets immensely not having discussed boundaries. Right here in this church, with his wife only a step away from the both of them. Abbie is taking small steps to him slowly. She can't be blamed, she is frightened, having just made possibly the most difficult decision of her entire existence. Strange enough, he can't stop himself moving to her either. There are boundaries, and there is love, their relationship is more love (the kind that exists between siblings) than boundaries, he remembers that more than he thinks about boundaries.

Perhaps, she's walked into his arms, he can't know for sure, because he could swear he opened his arms for her to step into. Awkwardly missing the intended target of her forehead, his cheek settles on top of her head. She's so short, if they were doing something other than holding onto each other, it would be most adorable, because he'd either have to lift her to his level, or she'd have to stand on her toes. And what is he thinking?

Certainly not that instead of smoothing her hair, he wants to dig his hand into it from where her neck ends, where her hair starts. Or that in place of whispering a dedicated promise to her, he wants to tell her that she cannot allow him to return without her, that he needs her in the other world, for so many things. He's a married man, he isn't thinking all these things. Just as he isn't thinking how lovely it is to feel (yes, actually feel) her heartbeat on his chest, even if it is too pronounced and unevenly rapid.

Boundaries Ichabod, he thinks to himself, there are limits to a friendship, and honestly, with your wife right there? He pulls back abruptly, but almost immediately he wants to link their foreheads, because she's so beautiful, extremely.

'Faith,' he says instead, he can't tell her she's beautiful. She must know she is. Abbie nods while blinking back tears, which makes him want to pull her to him, and keep her there.

'Crane, I swear if you don't return...'

'I shall,' he bows his head, 'Believe that I will.'

Not given the chance to notice that she's moved, he only comes to feel her clinging to him, arms around his neck, and their cheeks pasted together.

No, no, no, as Katrina would always say when he came to Purgatory, this is going too far, and in the eyes of his wife. It cannot be.

'Leftenant?' he struggles to find breath, he believes she's taken it away by doing this.

'Mmhhmm?' she half moans in reply.

'We never got to talking about boundaries did we?' At his question, she lets go of him, taking a step away to get a better look of his face.

'Really?' her eyebrows raise, 'You want to talk about boundaries? Here? In Purgatory? Sure, let's talk boundaries, I mean it's not like Moloch wants both our souls or anything.'

'I didn't mean...' he begins, 'I just meant, we should have the conversation later on, that's all.' Why does he always end up feeling guilty for things she does? What is that called?

'Go,' she waves a hand, 'You don't have all day.'

He wants to protest, he wants to shake her truly for some reason, he wants a lot of things where she is concerned, but right now, he has to hold himself, that is after all the foundation of the boundaries he's desperately trying to erect.

'Katrina,' he holds out a hand to his wife, 'We have to go.' Her face is quiet, like that of an observer, he can't think about it just now, because then he'd have to think about why he wants boundaries between himself and the leftenant.

**So, 1stly, I absolutely think Ichabod and Abbie belong together, so my heart ships them, BUT, BUT, BUT, I learned somewhere that Katrina is alive, so I will not write any adultery, at all. I started this fic when I thought Katrina was dead: my reasons for thinking so were these;**

**Purgatory is a place for those who have died (in Catholic theology).**

**Katrina said to husband, 'My body was never buried in that grave, it hides the true location of the horseman's skull.' She should've said, 'I never died.'**

**Henry (The Golem episode) said, 'A mortal soul has no place in the realm of the dead,' So does that make Katrina immortal?**

**This is why I thought she was dead, but apparently, she's not, so no matter how badly I want them to be together, I won't make an opportunity. Also, the time they were saying goodbye, I kept thinking, how would it be like if they were to kiss? Like not in fics, really, on TV, in the show. I would think it would be WOW! Anyway...Abbie is super pretty, I kept looking at her and thinking, 'Am I the only one who sees this?' She's amazingly beautiful. Oh, yes, I don't know how to get Ichabod to start thinking about Abbie, now that Katrina is/was back for like ten seconds.**


End file.
